Seeking Comfort
by Anexie
Summary: Swag's mother-son relationship takes a turn for the worse, so he goes to the only person he knows who won't judge his situation. Fluffy Swoncest.


There was a boy on his doorstep. A boy with shaking shoulders and a bowed head, wearing an almost impudently obnoxious shirt and holding a small tortoise to his chest. One was taken quite aback. He couldn't remember ever seeing Swag cry before.

'Swag? I...'

Uncharacteristically, One was all out of smart-ass remarks and simply stood to the side to let the boy into his house. Swag entered, then made his way on a familiar path straight to One's bedroom silently and hastily. The other boy followed him, calling his name anxiously.

One stood in the doorway of his own room and stared at his bed - which now had a Swag perched on the edge of it, being unusually quiet apart from the small sobs.

Fists clenched and unclenched themselves nervously, fingers curling into the red fabric. He'd never felt a need to comfort anyone before, so One was unsure of what exactly was required of him. He lingered on the threshold for a few seconds longer, before padding across the carpet to plonk down next to his friend. He raised a tentative hand and patted the younger boy on the shoulder.

It was like opening a floodgate.

At the very moment his hand met with the other's shirt, Swag's mouth opened and a torrent of unintelligible noise came out of it.

_'Mymom'skickedmeout-' _

An interruption in the form of a choked sob.

_'-shereadmydiaryandidontknowwhattodo-' _

An uncivilised wail.  
_  
'onepleasecanistayhereforabitpleaseijustidontknoww hattodoshe'ssomadatme-'_

One made sure that his next comforting pat was a little harder than the others, and it seemed to snap him out of it. Swag placed the tortoise carefully next to him on the bedsheets where it eagerly made a slow departure, glad to be out of the teen's sweaty grip.

It took a couple of minutes, but the crying gradually gave way to shallow breaths and hiccups. Swag removed his glasses and wiped them with the hem of his shirt, trying to remove the tears caught on the lenses but only succeeding in creating a large smudge on either one. He took a deep, shaky breath.

'My Mom... she knows I'm gay.'

One stared at the lowered head of the other boy, and his mouth set into a thin line as he realised exactly how much of a traumatic situation his friend was facing. The ability to form a rational and helpful sentence escaped him. 'Ah. Well, fuck.'

Swag's pale fingers fumbled and twisted the flamboyant eye-wear in his lap. 'She read my diary while we were at school.' Bright, watery blue eyes flickered to One's face.

One tried to meet Swag's gaze, but the other turned his head away again. But One had caught a flash of something; something dark and mottled and sore. He reached out to the other boy's chin and gently turned Swag's face towards him. The boy's left cheekbone was swollen, the skin turned angry shades of red and purple. One frowned, his eyes narrowing. 'She _hit_ you?'

Wrenching out of One's grasp, Swag nodded. In his lap his hands suddenly clenched, and with a roar he drew his arm back and launched the glasses across the room, where they hit the opposite wall and fell to the ground with a 'thud'. His whole body trembling, he then drew his knees to his chest and curled into himself.

One had never seen anything look so pitiful, so dejected, so _miserable. _He'd never really cared that much about Swag – sure they were mates, they hung out and stuff; but it wasn't like they were _always there for each other_, or some soppy shit like that. In fact, he found Swag a little annoying. He was immature, camp as hell, and his voice often verged a little too close on the edge of 'whiny'. It really did not surprise him at all that the idiot kept a diary - it was probably just page after page of self centred arrogance and fanatical essays about his idol, _Katy Perry_. If the boy wasn't such a good fuck; if he hadn't gone along with Swag's stupid 'friends-with-benefits' bullshit; then he'd have dropped the little faggot _ages _ago_.  
_But now, looking upon Swag's display of total despondency, One felt so _strongly_ about the whole thing.

Anger at the total _bitch_ that Swag unfortunately had to call his mother. Next time he saw her, One was _really_ going to let her have it.  
Frustration that being gay was seen as such a bad thing in the first place.  
But most of all, One felt the most extreme want for Swag to just be happy again: to stop being sad and be his old, worry-free self, arrogance and all.  
He just wished there was some way in which he could help make his friend feel better because he just looked so sad and pathetic, as if his world was ending (which, in a way, it was); because Swag was caught right in the middle of the shittiest mess ever and One just wanted to help him clear it all up -

Spurred on by his intense emotions, One threw his arms around the other's hunched form. Swag stiffened. A few seconds passed before he relaxed, inhaling the bitter smell of cigarette smoke that always clung to the other teen. After a while, he stopped hugging his knees and started hugging One instead. He felt coarse fingertips stroking his hair: a strange, yet extremely comforting feeling.

'Swag.'

'Uh-huh?'

'You wanna go get some Pepsi? I got a coupon.'


End file.
